


House Booty Is Bad Booty

by oceaxe



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco knows it's not okay to have a crush on one's housemate. Which is why he should never have let Harry move in. Cameo by character from another fandom- sorry, I couldn't resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this oh so many years ago, but some of the writing always bothered me so I took it in for some mild edits and I'm releasing it back into the wild.

Draco unlocked the door, already hearing Harry's laughter in the living room. It sounded like he was watching another Muggle movie. Draco felt a little smile quirk his lips as he realized that he genuinely looked forward to coming home these days. Knowing that he had someone to talk to about his day - someone who would listen and crack jokes- made his life seem less dismal. Living with Harry was a weird twist of fate that seemed to be working out, against the odds.

Draco had found living alone almost unbearable after the divorce. He had never lived alone, and he wasn’t strong enough to start at this late date. He still had dreams about the war and they unsettled him. It wasn't that he needed a shoulder to cry on. But he liked to know that there was someone else around, just in case. With Astoria gone, and most of his other friends dead or in jail, he didn’t have anyone. At any rate, no one he could just call up at a moment's notice.

One night, several weeks after the documents finalizing the divorce had been signed, he had run into Potter in a pub. He and Potter had never been particular friends, but after the war, Harry had always gone out of his way to be polite to Draco, which he had appreciated more than he would ever say.

His split with Astoria had been all over the papers, and Draco did not handle the resultant stress well. One could even say he was cracking up, a bit. He had been several whiskeys into a bender when a low voice sounded somewhere above him and to the left. It seemed to be addressing him. 

"Hey, buy you a drink?"

Draco looked up through a fog of alcohol, squinted and said, “Potter?" The blurry shape standing over him seemed familiar in a scruffy, bespectacled way.

"I hope so; I'm wearing his underwear,” the shape said. Draco tried to focus.

“Yeah, Malfoy,” Harry said, chuckling. “It's me. Potter. You look a bit plastered. Maybe we should get you some coffee?" He sat down next to Malfoy as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"No, no, I'm fine for one more. What're you doing here? Where's the ... your friends?" He looked around warily, expecting to be ambushed by the other two-thirds of the Triumverate.

"They're on the honeymoon. They got married, Malfoy. Didn't you get the invitation?"

Draco was thoughtful for a moment. "Yeesssss.... I have a vague recollection of that...hm."

"Right, well, you didn't make an appearance but shockingly they decided to get married anyway. I've got the bouquet at home in case you're bitter you missed it." 

Draco couldn't believe his ears - it sounded like Potter was using sarcasm. Would wonders never cease?

Draco snorted. "No, you can keep it. Thanks. Thanks for the drink too."

"So, where are you living now that Astoria’s split?" Potter didn't even seem to realize how gauche he was being. It must have been the alcohol that allowed Draco to accept this assumed intimacy with such grace.

"Same place. She moved out.” Draco's fingers curled around his glass. “Good riddance," he added.

"You sure about that?"

Draco rewarded Harry for his concern with a cold look.

"I'm doing fine, Potter."

"I'm sure." Potter took a sip of his drink. "So, that big house, all alone." 

"Yes. It's quite cozy, for a house with 14 bedrooms. You'd be surprised."

Harry grinned and shook his head. "I've been there once, remember?"

"Can't say as how I do. When did my standards lapse so far as to invite the likes of you over?" Draco slitted his eyes at Harry, who smirked at his attempt to be offensive.

"Theodore Nott's bachelor party. Don't think I've forgotten your striptease."

"That was the drugs. I was tricked." Draco could feel a smile tugging at his lips.

"If you say so." Harry looked amused and dubious.

"I may have enjoyed the look on Weasley's face. But that's it," he added with an air of he-doth-protest-too-much. Truth was, Draco was a hopeless exhibitionist and he knew it.

"Well, Weasley's bachelor party was even worse than Nott's, let me tell you."

"Oh yes, tell me _all_ about it!" Draco said, sarcastically. _And thanks for inviting me, wanker,_ he didn’t add.

"I hired him a stripper," Harry continued. Apparently his new-found ability to use sarcasm didn't come with a corresponding ability to recognize it when it was directed at him.

"Very plebian."

"A male stripper."

"You didn't!" Draco burst into helpless laughter.

They'd talked until the wee hours, and Draco had gotten considerably drunker, and somewhere along the line Harry must have said something about wanting to give the new Mr. and Mrs. Weasley some breathing room and find another place, because when Draco woke up the next morning, he dimly remembered that they'd agreed that Potter should move in.

 

* * *

 

Harry continued to be the foolish Gryffindor he was, only now he was doing it in Draco's house. Laughing and cooking and drinking his terrible lager and being absurdly and needlessly frugal. He watched muggle movies and tried his hand at all manner of pastimes: playing guitar, sketching, joining pick-up Quidditch games. He was involved with life in a carefree, easy way, and Draco found it admirable. Apparently, getting rid of Voldemort had purged some of the darker aspects of Harry’s personality.

For Draco, things were not so easy. Most of the time he felt like a broken thing, taken apart and poorly put back together. Pieces were missing, or butting up against something they shouldn't, rasping and grating against each other. He drank a lot to mitigate the ache, but the drinking made him do things he wasn't proud of, and that tended to make the whole situation worse.

They never spent time together outside of the house they shared, but when they were both there, Draco found that he couldn't seem to tear himself away from Harry's side. Harry was always laughing at something or other - which was strange, as he'd always seemed so somber during the war.

The war had taken an enormous toll on him, and Draco knew that he too had trouble sleeping a lot of the time. But his laughter and his warm smiles didn't seem faked or forced. It was a mystery, one that absorbed Draco. Sometimes he found himself half-consciously picking at the threads of it, even when he thought he was thinking of something else. 

* * *

He never could pinpoint the exact moment he'd first found Potter attractive. Intellectually he knew that Potter wasn't bad-looking, of course, but he was hardly Draco's type. Later, when he started to have fleeting moments of appreciation for Potter's face, or body, or mannerisms, he pushed them out of his head. He didn't dwell on them. It just wasn't the done thing, having a crush on your housemate. Besides, Potter was straight.

When Potter had casually told him, late one night in the kitchen, that he'd made out with a couple boys at Gryffindor dorm parties, Draco had again pushed aside the information as of no interest to him. An inappropriate and inconvenient topic of speculation. He didn't want to ruin a good thing. The only thing going for him at the moment, actually.

While he couldn't pinpoint the start of the attraction, he could well identify the moment when it became no longer something that could be pushed aside. It asserted itself center-stage in his life, in one overwhelming and unexpected moment.

 

* * *

 

 _Harry is looking pretty well put-together for a weeknight,_ Draco mused. His hair was as close to styled as it ever got, his shirt crisp and flattering to his broad shoulders, his shoes… Good lord, he wasn't even wearing trainers! Part of Draco's mind was admiring the way Harry's dark jeans molded to his arse, while the other part of his mind was calmly ignoring the observation as irrelevant.

“So, big plans tonight?” he drawled, knowing Harry would just say something about an Unspeakable function he hadn't been able to get out of.

“Yeah, for once.”

“Oh, really?” _Probably playing wizarding poker with the Gryffindork Gang,_ he thought derisively, deflecting the slight twinge of jealousy that accompanied the knowledge that he would never be invited to a game.

“Yeah, really.” Harry turned and grinned at him. “You're not the only one who can pull, you know.”

“Um, what?” Draco genuinely believed he must have heard wrong.

“I’ve got a date. Met him at the market. Pretty cute, too, if I say so myself.” Harry sounded happy and excited.

 _Him._ Everything became clear to Draco in a flash of understanding so blinding it momentarily made him feel as though he might faint or vomit.

Distantly, he heard his own voice say, “You've got a date? With a man?”

"Is that okay?" Harry asked warily as Draco stood there, thunderstruck.

"Y-yeah, it's fine." Draco shook himself, turned away to investigate some suddenly important piece of owl-mail. "Of course it is."

"I mean, you date men occasionally too, right?"

"Well, 'date' is hardly the right word. It would be more apt to say I fuck men occasionally." Draco knew he'd sounded harsh. He struggled for moment to find a way to play it off, but nothing came to mind. 

Harry looked unsettled for a moment, then he smiled at Draco and said, "Yeah, well, I'm off. Wish me luck!"

Draco crossed his fingers behind his back and said, "Good luck," as brightly as he could manage. No sooner had Harry left than he felt stupid, and petty, and more importantly, stupid.

* * *

 

In the ensuing days, Draco endeavored to retain at least a tenuous hold on denial, that lifesaving psychological defense. This became all the more necessary the first time Harry brought someone home.

Draco had been sitting on the divan (Harry called it a couch, but Harry was a plebe), watching a film when they stumbled in, laughing. Pain stabbed Draco in his chest as he registered that a) Harry was enjoying himself with this bloke, and b) this bloke was fucking gorgeous. He scanned the man's face and body to see if it stirred any recollection, but he reluctantly concluded that he'd never fucked the man before, not in any of the clubs or bars he sometimes frequented.

"Hey, Draco!" Harry said. "Stephen, this is my housemate Draco. Draco, this is that guy I was telling you about."

"Ah." So, not a new guy. The same one. Bloody buggering fuck. "How do you do?"

"'How do you do,' that's so posh!" laughed Stephen. He either lacked manners completely or was more than a little drunk. Possibly both. "How do _you_ do?" he said, clearly taking the piss.

"I _do_ admirably. I was just enjoying a film, but I can take it to my room if you'd rather have the living room." _Please, please, use the living room,_ he thought fervently.

"No, that's okay Draco, we'll just go to my bedroom."

Now the pain was stabbing through both his chest and his belly. Soon it would make incursions on his head. Hopefully it would leave his dick alone- he needed that to help him forget the way he was feeling just now.

"Actually - make yourselves at home; I believe I'll go out for a nightcap." _And a blow job._

He probably slammed the door on his way out, but he doubted they could hear him over the frenzy of their wild animal sex. 

* * *

 

The club was thumping with music Draco didn't like. He shrugged imperceptibly and scanned the room. He hadn't come here to dance anyway. He came here for a very specific purpose. Sometimes he'd let himself get pulled onto the dance floor, but it was all with one goal in mind- getting a blow job with no strings attached. If the fellow was very good or very hot, he might bestow the gift of a first-class reaming, back at his place. He usually used a Silencing Charm so as to avoid making Potter aware of what a slut he was, but perhaps tonight he'd go without.

He spotted someone leaning against the bar. Well. This might be one of those rare times he gave someone else a blow job - he ought to keep in practice, after all, and this man was a virtual Adonis. His stomach churned with the knowledge that no matter how hot the man was, he was no Harry. He told his stomach to fuck off.

A few drinks later, Draco approached the man. He knew he wasn't looking his best, but even on his off-days he outshone most blokes. He attempted to convey "I've just been shagged which is why I look this grotty, but I'm so insatiable and voracious that I need more; could you be the lucky man to satisfy me?"

Mr. Adonis gave him a sideways glance, smirked to himself and half-turned to Draco where he leaned casually against the bar, surveying the dancing bodies.

"See something you like?" The man was an American, but had a drawl on him that put most Brits to shame.

Draco pointedly stared out at the crowd for a second or two longer, before turning slowly to the man at his side.

He looked him subtly up and down and said, "Now I do."

The other man laughed, a bit derisively Draco thought, but turned fully towards him and said, "Me too. Let's go to the back."

Draco followed the man to the back room, which was more sweaty and crowded than usual. They made their way to the back, and the man leaned against the wall, looking through his eyelashes at Draco. "Well?" he said.

His arrogance would have been appalling on a less attractive, less composed man. As it was, he was just the type, the only type, that could possibly get Draco on his knees in this situation. Before Draco lowered himself to the ground, he leaned towards the man, to kiss him. The man snorted in contempt and turned his face so that Draco's lips met his cheek. Draco growled lightly in his throat, turning the man's face to his and kissing him. He met with mild resistance at first, but Draco had skills not possessed by the ordinary run of man.

He pulled away and the man looked unwillingly impressed. "Okay," he drawled with a smile on his face. "Now will you kindly get down on your knees?" He undid his trousers and began to push them down.

Draco grinned at him and finished pulling the man's trousers around his thighs. Now there was a thing worthy of putting in one's mouth. Draco knelt and nuzzled all around... ("What did you say your name was?" "I didn't." Draco gave him a look. The man smirked. "Brian.") Brian's cock. It smelled good, not quite ‘right’ but fairly arousing. Draco took it in hand and began working it over. Putting just the head in his mouth, he rolled his tongue all the way around the glans, noting with satisfaction the thrust of hips that greeted this assay.

This man was gorgeous, his cock was gorgeous, it felt good in his mouth, he liked the response he was getting. But it wasn't enough. He found that he was imagining it was Harry's cock in his mouth. He groaned in horror and arousal, knowing that it was wrong to think of Harry that way, that way madness lay, but he couldn't help it. It made him so hard. He moaned loudly as Brian came down his throat.

Brian helped him up to his feet and stared him down. "That was fucking great," he said. "I think, as a reward, I'd be willing to fuck you. Your place... or your place?"

Draco actually blushed. "That's usually my line, but..." His thoughts drifted back to Harry and Stephen. "Yeah, actually. My place it is."

* * *

 

The sex was fantastic and empty, like he'd known it would be. They both passed out immediately afterwards, but Draco awoke at four in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. He lay there, brooding stoically, until Brian muttered, “Take a sleeping pill, for Christ's sake; you're keeping me awake with your fidgeting.”

Draco huffed and rolled further away from the warm, foreign body in his bed. He lay, listening to Brian's breathing, trying to convince himself that he shouldn't ask for advice from a stranger on holiday.

“What's on your mind, then?” Brian asked, resignedly. “I can tell you're still awake. Talk.”

“Have you ever …” Oh god, he did not want to put this into words. This would be the first time he'd talked about it. It was going to make it feel real.

“Dear Abby isn't going to wait all night, you know. Spit it out.” Though the words were harsh, Brian's voice actually sounded a bit tender. Draco figured it couldn't hurt to confide in this bloke. He'd never see him again anyway.

“I… rather fancy my housemate. It's driving me round the bend. I don't know what to do.”

“What to do? You don't do anything. House booty is bad booty. You're an adult; you should know that.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Draco laughed. “House booty is bad booty? What kind of advice is that?”

“It's simple. You don't shit or fuck where you live. You should kick him out.”

“It's not that simple. He's my friend.”

“He used to be your friend. Now he's a ticking time bomb, precisely calibrated to fuck up your life.”

“I'd be alone.” Gross. He sounded so pathetic when he said that.

“Better alone than pining like some twink. Have some dignity.”

“You do have a point.”

“I've got more than a point," he said as he took Draco's hand and moved down to his engorged prick. "Take care of that for me, will you?” He smirked, and Draco had an epiphany that being smirked at all the time was rather irritating. Nevertheless, he felt his cock twitch in response. Early morning sex was usually the best, anyway.

He slid down the bed, muttering, “Only because I'll never see you again.”

Brian laughed.

“What's your last name, so I can be sure to avoid you if I ever visit America?”

“Ha,” said Brian derisively. “I highly doubt you'd visit the craphole I live in. It's Kinney.”

“Okay, then, Brian Kinney, to reward you for your callous advice I will now administer one, and only one, blow job.”


	2. Two

In the morning, Draco gave Brian directions to the Tube and fell back into his bed, half-hoping Stephen would run into Brian in the kitchen on his way out and quake in fear of Draco's sexual prowess. He heard some shuffling around in the kitchen. Though he really did not want to run into Harry with that tart, some part of him was compelled to go check out the situation. 

It was Harry, making coffee in his bathrobe. By himself. Draco, against his will, took in the mussed appearance of his hair ( _nothing new there_ , he snidely commented to himself) and the really quite attractive bare feet. _Attractive bare feet, indeed. Get a grip._

"Boys all vanished with the first morning light?" he quipped. 

Harry started. "Oh! You scared me. Yeah, some amazingly sexy guy just wandered through here, asking if I knew where he could get some coffee. I offered to make some but he just laughed at me." 

"Hm. Yeah, he was a dick, but _what_ a dick." 

Draco felt a blush creep over his face at the outright crudity of his language. He didn't want Harry thinking he was some sort of jaded whore! Even if that was, more or less, the truth. He turned away to hide the blush and went on the offensive.

"What about Stephen? He looked like a good time."

"Oh, yeah, we watched some movies and talked for awhile."

"And then...?" Draco asked suggestively, his stomach knotting and tensing. Why in God’s name was he putting himself through this torture? He didn't want to know the particulars of Harry's sexual adventures. That was why he tried to drown them out in the first place!

"And then he left. We didn't do anything. He's a nice guy and all. I don't know."

Part of him wanted to grill Potter for more information. Had the guy turned Potter down? In which case, Draco was tempted to both cheer - and hunt the idiot down to punish him for his idiocy. Or had Potter decided that he wasn't really up for hot male-on-male action after all? 

But another part of him preferred his illusions, preferred this situation to stay as fuzzy and unexamined as possible. 

"Oh. Well, more fish in the sea and all that," he said offhandedly. 

"Yeah. Going out tonight?"

"I think I have to work late, actually. You?"

"I was going to rent some movies."

Damn. Draco would have liked to make a special exception, tell Harry he could skip out on work and do whatever Harry had planned, but Harry watched movies all the time so it would just seem weird. 

Harry puttered around for awhile and then added, "Probably go over to Ron and Hermione's actually. Haven't seen them in awhile."

"Better you than me, old man." Draco was only joking, but it came out with a bit more sneer than intended.

Harry turned on him, then. "You know, I don't get you sometimes. We've been roommates for how long, and what has Ron or Hermione ever done to you, and you still treat them like they're beneath you, too low to even... aghh!" Harry threw up his hands and grabbed his coffee, stalking back into his bedroom. 

Well. It was now perfectly clear that Harry hadn't gotten laid, and that that Stephen bloke had muffed a golden opportunity. What a total fucking moron. Draco felt himself going livid with rage at a man who would take a pass on someone like Harry. 

* * *

The weeks passed, and Draco's feelings did not abate, despite the delivery of repeated and impassioned speeches imploring his heart to give over. He wished Harry's job was more demanding, so that he could get some space. Unfortunately, being an Unspeakable seemed to entail long stretches of waiting, infrequently interspersed with grueling missions that Harry, well, couldn't speak about. 

Draco would come home late at night, always to find Harry playing music, or in the kitchen inventing a new dish, or in the living room, laughing it up over some inane comedy or foreign film He inexplicably found all foreign films hilarious. Sometimes Draco would retire to his room with the intention of separating himself from that which he could not have, but more frequently he would find himself drawn out, unable to keep away from Harry's infectious spirit. 

It was one of those nights, when he'd gotten off of work late and gone out for one too many drinks, that he came home to find Harry by the stereo, playing one track after another, Muggle songs that Draco for the most part didn't recognize. 

“Hey there!” Harry glanced over at him, looking happy but distracted. Clearly his happiness was not contingent on Draco's presence. This simple realization made Draco's stomach sink a bit.

“Hey yourself. Goodnight.” He was a few steps down the hallway to his bedroom when Harry called out, “Come back, I want you to hear this song!”

Draco rolled his eyes but a gentle wave of relief washed through him. It always gave him such a (stupid, useless, mortifying) thrill when Harry wanted to hang out with him, share things with him. Without further conscious thought, he walked back into the living room.

“You bellowed?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, listen to this song!” Harry said excitedly. It had a driving, idiosyncratic beat that made Draco instinctively want to dance. “It's good, isn't it?” They both listened for a moment, Harry tapping his feet and nodding his head.

“Yes, actually. If they played music like this at the clubs I'd probably go there to dance instead of-” He cut himself off before he could remind Harry what an unprincipled slut he was. “What is it?” 

“It's French house music. They're called Daft Punk.”

As the song progressed, the beat got more insistent and complex, and Harry couldn't contain himself any longer. He got up and danced, and Draco realized two things simultaneously: One, Harry was a fantastic dancer: sexy, unique and remarkably coordinated and unselfconscious. Two, he should never have come back into the room to hear this song, and he should leave at once. 

“Come on, dance, Draco, this is such an amazing…” Harry got lost in the song again, closing his eyes and basically freaking out to the music. _If that performance could be called 'freaking out.' It's freaking me out, that's for sure._

But despite his misgivings, Draco found the beat irresistible. He walked over to the bar, poured a shot of scotch, downed it and turned up the volume of the music in a smooth series of connected movements that culminated in his dancing to the song with his characteristic seductive grace. 

He had his eyes closed, though, because he was terrified that Harry was watching him and also afraid to find out that he wasn't. 

“Well, Potter.” Draco opened his eyes and turned to go back to the bar for another shot. “You were right. That song was excellent. Is all their stuff that good?"

“Yeah, pretty much. I haven't gone dancing in a long time, but I used to go with Seamus and Neville, right after school. We'd go every Wednesday night to a club called the Smart Bar. Inaptly named, as we acted about as stupidly as possible there, but it was a good time. Wanna play a song you like?”

Draco stalled by taking a sip of his drink. “You know I don't know much Muggle music.”

“Come on, what about your iPod?”

Draco had not been able to resist purchasing an iPod. They were sleek and shiny and almost surgically precise in their beauty. It was one thing that made him seriously reconsider his ingrained prejudice against Muggles. If they could come up with this, they couldn't be all bad. 

An added bonus was that he'd gotten to spend hours with Harry due to his inability to use the thing. He hadn't even known you had to have a computer to put music on it. Harry had set him straight, though Draco had played dumb enough that Harry had agreed to go shopping with him and set it up. He also adored his MacBook and had secretly named it “Severus,” though Harry was never informed of that.

“It's mostly your stuff. I just put it on shuffle."

“Yeah, but what do you like?” Harry had sat down on the sofa and sprawled there, long lean legs encased in jeans, shirt riding up and exposing a tiny amount of hair on his lower belly, smooth toned arms along the back of the couch. Draco looked away.

“I like… okay, how about this one?” He walked over to the stereo, hoping he could remember how to use the docking mechanism. iPod connected, he scrolled through his playlists and found a song that had a similar feel to the Daft Punk song.

“I like this one a lot. I listen to the album at the gym.”

He pressed play and felt his body responding to the beat. “It starts off slow but it builds up to this intense climax.”

“Oh yeah! Vitalic is brilliant!” Harry exclaimed as he leapt off the couch. “Hey get me a beer, would you?” he asked as he started dancing again. Draco laughed, feeling excited and uncomfortable.

“Not your house-elf, Potter; how many times do I have to remind you?”

“Yeah, yeah, just shut up and do it.” Harry grinned at him and continued to dance, closing his eyes.

“Only for you,” Draco muttered, smiling to himself as he went into the kitchen. Harry had made him get rid of the house-elves when he'd moved in, but Draco didn't mind. They had been Astoria's idea in the first place. His family’s elves had all decamped during the Visit.

He came back with a beer to the sight of Potter completely and totally lost in the music. He looked entirely too sexy in the full light of the living room lamps. Draco's first thought was to dim the lights so that he couldn't see Potter so clearly. He started dancing as well, keeping his back turned for the most part.

“Yeah, that's better,” Harry said. “Oh, what about this?” He waved his wand and suddenly the lights were flashing soft colors, as though they were in a club. 

“Great,” said Draco, watching the lights play over Harry's face and skin. He poured himself another drink, noticing the song was ending.

“'M gonna play another one. What do you want?"

The word “you” battered at the ramparts of Draco's mind, but he was steadfast. 

“Don't care. Whatever."

“How about Usher?”

Draco took a huge swig and shrugged. He instantly knew what song Harry would play. 

The familiar beat started pumping, and Draco felt a surge of anticipation through him. God, he loved this song. He could never help dancing when he heard it. 

He was getting into the song and successfully preventing himself from watching Harry dance, when Harry started doing Ludacris' part. He sounded ridiculous, and Draco stopped dancing and stared for a moment in utter disbelief before laughing hysterically. 

“Potter! Stop! My ears! My eyes!”

“Now bend over to the front, and touch your toes!” Harry winked at him and bent over, indeed touching his toes. His arse did a little shimmy and he straightened up, continuing, “Left the Jag and I took the Rolls, if they ain't cuttin' then I put 'em on foot patrol… Rowr, how you like me now…” 

Draco, irritated by his response to seeing Potter's little display of theatrics, switched the stereo off. “You're ruining a perfectly good song with your antics, Potter. You are not an MC for the ages.” He smirked, hoping Potter wouldn't take offense, which he didn't.

Laughing, Harry said, “What, you think I don't have mad skills? I'm getting another beer to drown my sorrow.” He went into the kitchen, telling Draco to put on another song. Draco went over to the iPod and decided on something more mellow, randomly selecting a song from Moon Safari. He needed to cool down. Perhaps another shot of whiskey, with ice? Lots and lots of ice.

The song began to play, sultry and suggestive, and he realized his mistake. This song was called 'Sexy Boy'. He hurried over to change it, but Harry stopped him.

“Leave it on; I love this song,” he said, popping open his beer. “Want a joint?” 

“Marijuana, Potter? How common,” Draco sneered as he went for the box under the divan. 

Harry laughed, settling himself on the floor. “You love it and you know it. Give it over.” He reached for the box and looked up at Draco. Their eyes met for a long moment. Draco sat down a safe distance away and took yet another drink. He was going to be completely sozzled at this rate, but he didn't care. 

He needed to put his conscious mind on hold, if he wanted to act naturally around Potter in this situation. The sight of Potter dancing had done terrible things to his libido and he was hoping copious amounts of whiskey would convince it that it wasn't interested in sex for awhile. 

“I wish you would let me smoke cigarettes in here.” 

“It's a filthy habit, Draco.”

“I could spell the odour away!” he whined. “Come on, just one! I promise! And also, it's my house!”

“Alright,” Harry said with a mocking tone of indulgence. “Just the one, though.” He smiled, concentrating on rolling the perfect spliff.

“Thanks ever so. Prat.” Draco fished his Gauloises out of his jacket and lit up, inhaling rapturously. “If my father had ever seen me do this, I'd have been AK’d instantly.” 

“Joint's ready.”

“You go ahead.” 

Harry lit up and inhaled, holding the smoke in. He'd picked up the habit while living with a Muggle girlfriend, briefly. 

'Sexy Boy' ended, thank god, and Harry got up to put another song on, handing the joint to Draco. He reluctantly placed his cigarette in the ashtray and lifted the joint to his lips. This was probably a bad idea, as drunk as he was, but he felt an impending sense that something was going to happen and he wanted to have something to blame it on.

“I have one you'll like,” Harry said, a mischievous look on his face that instantly filled Draco with prescient dread. _Whatever song you're about to play, pick a different song,_ he pleaded silently with Harry.

He went back to smoking his cigarette, radiating a sang froid he did not feel.

The bouncing, insolent bass line of Lust for Life started up, and Draco knew what was coming next. He wished lightning to strike him dead on the spot. This was the song he'd done a striptease to, at Teddy's stag night.

“This sound familiar to you?” Harry smirked, and he shouldn't be allowed, because he didn't do it right; it didn't have enough animosity or irony or something. It was still hot, though.

Then he started stripping. It seemed playful, not as though he was making fun of Draco. But how playful could it be when that smolderingly sexy, dirty song was playing? It was about anal sex, for fuck's sake! Harry's hands had unbuttoned his shirt nearly all the way, and he was doing this little strut around the living room, much as Draco had done that apparently fateful evening. The tips of Harry's fingers were pushing down teasingly at the waistband of his jeans and Draco just couldn't take anymore.

“Very amusing, Potter, but I've got to go to the loo.” He got up and left the room before he could see whether Harry continued his performance. He was pretty high, after all, and had probably just been lost in the song.

Once safely hidden in the bathroom, Draco pressed on his engorged dick with the heel of his hand, willing it to go away. Apparently he hadn't drunk enough, and his better half was still very much aware of the evening's entertainment. He knew he should just plead exhaustion and go to bed - Potter wouldn't be offended - but part of him had to see how far he'd gotten with the stripping. It might be his only chance to see Potter in the buff, after all.

To Draco's immense ambivalence, Harry was fully clothed when he returned, and picking out another song to play.

It turned out to be another Daft Punk song, one so exuberant and hopeful that it made Draco put aside the shame of the past few minutes. He was just starting to forget Harry's existence, getting lost in the rhythm of the music, when he felt Harry dancing very close to him. He sidled away without being obvious and continued to dance, now peeking furtively over at Harry to make sure they didn't come too close to each other.

Harry seemed completely out of it, and Draco felt a sudden stab of disappointment. He knew it was impossible, but he wanted Harry to be unable to keep his eyes off of him, the same way he was fighting to keep from looking at Harry.

He turned his back and kept dancing, and Harry bumped into him. 

And then he felt Harry's hands on him, and then they were dancing together, Harry rubbing himself all along Draco's backside, hands wandering over his stomach and hips. As if in a dream, Draco turned and put his hands on Harry's waist and kept doing what he was doing, which was really rather suggestive.

Harry looked down between them and then slowly up to Draco's face, and before Draco knew what was happening, they were kissing. They were kissing. Harry had kissed him and was still kissing him and seemed likely to go on kissing him indefinitely. Draco's world faded into a blissed out haze as hands slid up under shirts, shirts went over heads, trousers were unzipped, and all the while they were kissing furiously, that glorious song was playing. 

Harry dragged the two of them to the couch and pushed Draco down onto it. “'M gonna give you a blow job and then fuck you. Okay?”

Draco had no words - he just nodded. 

His trousers were being tugged down, and he really wanted to keep his eyes open, wanted to see Harry's face as he looked at Draco's naked cock for the first time, touched it for the first time, but he was so drunk and so unaccountably shy. He was never shy. 

Ohhh… He nearly mewled at the feel of Harry's mouth on him, sparing a moment of thanks to the whiskey for leaving enough sensation to enjoy this while also preventing him from coming too soon. His hips were wantonly bucking up towards Harry's face as he sucked and licked up and down Draco's shaft. He was good. It was too bad this was a drunken one-off.

All too soon, Draco was coming down Harry's throat, voicing his approval at the best blow job of his life (not in so many words, or in fact any), and then Harry was pulling him up and dragging him to the side of the couch. Draco turned in his grasp and tugged him in for a kiss- he wanted so badly to kiss Harry, and how sweet was it that he was going to taste himself in Harry's mouth?

Their tongues met and writhed against one another, lips sliding and it was terribly messy and dirty but so, so wonderful. They broke apart, and Harry must have been very stoned to look so dazed; then again, Draco felt pretty dazed himself. He felt on the verge of spilling everything; he wanted Harry to know how amazing this was, how unbelievably fantastic it felt that this was finally happening, but thankfully Harry prevented that by gently turning him around and pulling his trousers all the way down, exposing his arse completely.

Harry made a sound of deep appreciation at the sight. Draco grinned as he bent over the arm of the couch, knowing that Harry was intending to fuck him over it. Harry, with surprising speed for a man so stoned, removed his jeans and knelt down to tongue Draco's arsehole, eliciting a drawn-out cry.

Harry's tongue dipped in and out of Draco's hole, swirling around the sensitive flesh and back in again til Draco was seriously concerned for Harry's eardrums and his own sanity. Seconds later, he felt a wandless lubrication charm and held his breath, vibrating with expectation. Harry's hands were on his hips, thumbs pulling his arsecheeks apart, and he felt an impressive erection probing him. _Fuck yes._

What followed was the fucking of a lifetime. Of course, it wasn't just Harry's skill, which was considerable, but also the mere fact that it was Harry. He eased himself into Draco with enough care not to hurt, but enough eagerness to be gratifying. Once he was fully seated, he pulled out just a little bit and pushed back in, repeating this a couple of times until Draco was begging him to just let go and fuck him already. To Draco's astonishment, Harry leaned over him and planted a lingering kiss on the side of his neck as he slowly picked up the pace.

Minutes later, Draco's hands were scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions and Harry was pounding into him with a determination he usually reserved for Quidditch or defeating Dark Lords. It was so good - that Draco passed out.


	3. Three

_Last night I had a dream about you_  
In this dream I'm dancing right beside you  
And it looked like everyone was having fun  
The kind of feeling I waited so long  
Don't stop, come a little closer  
As we jam, the rhythm gets stronger  
There's nothing wrong with just a little little fun  
We were dancing all night long  
...  
The time is right to wrap my arms around you  
You're feeling right, you wrap your arms around too  
But suddenly I feel the shining sun  
Before I know it, this dream is all gone. 

 

The sun shone in Draco's eyes as he slowly took stock of his situation. He was sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, in a position that suggested he'd been sick before passing out. He tried to sit up and fell back on the tile, groaning. A song was playing in the living room... no, it was in his head. Oh wait. It was the song that was playing when... _oh shit. No way. No._

Scenes from last night flashed through his head - Harry dancing, Draco smoking in the living room, dancing with Harry, Harry kissing him, Harry... fucking him? He tested the veracity of this memory by flexing his buttocks. Yes. Well, someone had fucked him, that was true enough. 

Panic flooded Draco. He ransacked his fuzzy memory for any clues that he'd revealed his feelings to Harry. It didn't seem as though he did, but he couldn't be absolutely sure. _Why did I have to drink so much_ , he whined internally. The song lyrics echoed again in his head. _How ridiculously apt,_ he thought. _The dream is all gone, indeed._

Draco picked himself off the tiles at long last and stepped into the shower. He knew he was just delaying the inevitable, ie: facing the fallout of this most ill-considered adventure. But maybe - maybe Harry did feel something for him. 

Clearly Harry desired him, at the very least. Against his will, a tiny bird of hope began beating against his ribcage. He hadn't the heart to smother it - it was so pretty and felt so good and he would just let it live for a moment or two longer....

The bird was still fluttering in his chest when he went into the kitchen to see Harry sitting at the table. At the sight of him, the bird died a sudden and gruesome death. Harry was scowling at the paper, a bottle of Top Secret Unspeakable hangover potion by his coffee cup. He didn't look up at Draco.

Draco had no idea what to say. Everything that came to mind was inane, or pathetic, or both. He got some coffee from the coffee pot, muttered, "Thanks for making coffee," and went to his bedroom. When he came out, a couple hours later, Harry was gone.

The week passed by like an ice age- cold and interminable. Draco, incapable of taking such a risk, kept looking to Harry to make the first move. It stubbornly failed to happen. The tension grew to the point where Draco couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him, much less talk normally to him. 

After a week and half, he began to get seriously, debilitatingly anxious. Draco was reduced to composing notes to Harry at work. They went along these lines:

_If you'd ever care to 'experiment' again, I can be found in my room from around 11:45pm to about 6:15am most nights; hours vary on the weekends. I'd be amenable to making an appointment, but walk-ins are also acceptable. I can be reached by owl, floo, note, live voice, or physical contact._

He always crumpled them up, feeling stupid and sick and sad. 

* * *

That Saturday night, Draco realized that he was going to have to force the issue, damn the consequences.

He approached Harry, who was reclining on the couch reading a magazine, and stood over him, feeling about thirteen years old.

“Hey.”

Harry looked up from the magazine he was reading. “What's up?”

Draco didn't know how to begin. It'd been hard enough to address Harry at all. “So, what was that, the other night?”

Harry looked at him blankly. “I don't know, what did you think it was?”

“I think we had sex,” he said flatly.

Harry smiled, unamused. “Yes. We had sex.”

“Was that all it was?” Draco kept his voice as neutral as possible, which meant it sounded rather cold.

“What do you mean?”

“Was it something more to you?” he elaborated, tense and annoyed.

Harry avoided Draco's eyes. “You afraid the ickle Gryffindor is going to start having messy emotions all over you? Don't concern yourself, Draco. It was just sex.” 

“Right then. Good. I'm glad we cleared that up.” Draco stared around the room, feeling an awful sense of impending tears. “Well. I'm for bed.”

“Me too.” Harry rose from the couch and stalked off.

Draco walked into his bedroom and closed the door. He did not sleep that night.

* * *

The next morning, Draco went downstairs for coffee, dread pressing on all his senses. He didn't know how to act in the wake of that conversation. Certainly, relations would be strained. Best to just pretend nothing had happened.

"Morning," he said to Harry's back, as casually as he could manage. Harry was making cereal and he saw how Harry froze at the sound of his voice. 

"Hey," Harry replied in a monotone. "Oh, I should tell you. I was talking to a friend last night, and it turns out she's looking for a roommate. So, I'm moving out at the end of the week."

Draco's nervous, circulatory and digestive systems sank through the floor, leaving him immobilized, freezing cold and unable to hear anything. His consciousness shrank to a tiny area, just large enough to see Potter's mouth moving. 

Slowly sound came back and he heard, "...just think it's better this way. It was never going to be a permanent thing, was it? I mean come on, talk about the Odd Couple." Harry laughed uncomfortably. "Anyway, she says I can start moving stuff in today."

Draco summoned his voice from wherever it had fled with the rest of his faculties and said, "Yes, I guess that is for the best. Let me know what I can do to assist you. Of course, packing won't be a problem because everything here is mine, with the exception of some manky old clothes and commemorative Quidditch pint glasses. Excuse me, I have to go to work."

He walked outside to the Apparation point and abruptly realized that in his dazed state he would undoubtedly splinch himself horrifically. Numb, he started walking down the street, not even sure if it was the right direction to the Tube, not even sure how he was staying on his feet. If he actually was on his feet - perhaps he'd passed out from the shock and was lying in a gutter somewhere, hallucinating all this. 

This had to be a hallucination. This couldn't be really happening. He couldn't have driven Harry away. No. Harry was the best thing to happen to him ... well, ever. Without Harry life had nothing, no charm, no flavor, no substance, no purpose. 

Realizing that he would be of no use at work even if he could manage to find his way there, he walked directly into the nearest wizarding bar and began drinking. When he could no longer enunciate clearly enough to order another drink, he got the bartender to Floo Nott to pick him up. 

"Merlin, Malfoy, you look like shit." Nott had never minced words, but his tone was full of concern. 

Draco just stared at him, trying to decide which of the three blurry Notts was the real one.

"You're coming home with me, right now," Nott said with finality.

Draco did a sort of wobbly nod, indicating consent. Nott pulled him up out of his seat and Apparated them both into a spare bedroom, laying Draco down with care. He passed out immediately.

Once awake and sober, Draco had the brilliant notion that he should leave the country for awhile instead of returning home. He invented an ill relative and the Ministry released him for a month-long trip to Greece. He left that same morning, leaving a thank-you for Nott with his house-elf.

* * *

One sun-drenched silent month later he returned, tanned and rested and feeling marginally less hollowed-out. He fully expected Potter's things to be removed from his premises, and his expectations were fulfilled. He spent the following week attempting to convince himself that he didn't miss Potter and was in fact glad to again have his privacy. He was monumentally unsuccessful in this endeavor. 

He was also unsuccessful at the most basic aspects of self-care, beyond grooming and styling. Without Potter around to cook, and until he could get some more house-elves, it became clear that Draco was going to have to feed himself. 

Reluctantly and with a sense of futility, he went down to the market and was frowning at some tomatoes when he heard a much-longed-for voice. He clamped down on the jolt that went through him and forced himself not to turn around. 

"Hi, Draco. You're looking well." Potter was right behind him, speaking almost into his ear.

He jumped about a foot in the air. "Thanks. Went to Greece."

"It agreed with you."

"Mm."

"I was wondering if -" Harry broke off, stepping back. "Um, never mind. See you l-"

"No, what?" Draco interrupted, hating how eager he sounded. _That's why Potter moved out in the first place; he could tell you wanted him more than he wanted you. Play it cool._

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me. Sometime. Doesn't have to be tonight."

"I'm not doing anything special." _Damn it, I said play it cool, not pounce on the first opportunity offered!_

"Good. Well. There's a place around the corner -"

"I know, that's where I ran into you the night -" _we agreed you should move in and then I fell in love with you and drove you away. For fuck's sake, shut up, Draco._

"Yeah, right. Well, they do a good fish and chips. I realize that's not up to your usual standards, but even a helpless aristocrat has to eat, right? It'll save you from whatever tomato-flavored disaster you were contemplating."

Draco adored snarky-Harry. "Don't do snarky, Harry. It doesn't suit you."

Harry laughed. Okay, things weren't quite back to normal, but perhaps they could do this friends thing. 

* * *

“So, Greece really treated you well, huh?” Harry leaned back in his chair, setting down his pint.

“I'll let you be the judge of that,” Draco said smugly. So far, everything was going great. 

“What do you mean? You have pictures?”

“No, I mean - look at me - my tan, Potter! I'm all sun-kissed!” He gestured expansively. 

Harry leaned over to inspect his face. Draco got a little restless.

“I hate to break it to you, because I know how vain you are, but you're not tan. See a few freckles, though,” Harry smirked broadly at him.

“I do not have freckles, you speccy git! And - alright, yes, I am vain. But… freckles???”

Harry was laughing openly at him, now. “Hmmm… now that I think about it, you sort of bear a passing resemblance to one of the Weasleys... which one, let me think…”

“You arsehole!” Draco was laughing now, too. “For that, you're getting the next round.”

“Yeah, yeah - back in a mo'.” Harry walked to the bar and Draco tracked his arse all the way there. Oh, no good. No good at all. He got up and headed for the loo, hoping that some cold water would clear his head. 

* * *

“There you are - I got back to the table and you were gone. Thought you'd done a runner on me,” Harry joked, leaning against the counter. Draco turned away from the basin and brushed his hair back, self-consciously. 

“And you were so worried you followed me into the gents? Ever hear of a little thing called 'separation anxiety', Harry?”

“Yes, it's quite natural for orphans to follow people around like lost puppies. Also, I hear substance abuse problems are rampant.” He dangled a spliff in front of Draco's face and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, you naughty boy,” Draco said, and then blushed. He was in a loo, with Potter, about to get high. This was such a bad idea. 

Harry lit up and inhaled. He always looked so graceful doing that. Some people were born to make breaking the rules look sexy, and Harry had always been one of them. He exhaled slowly and handed over the joint to Draco, who inhaled rather more deeply than he'd intended. 

Draco looked over at Harry, who was looking back with an indescribable expression on his face. Only it wasn't exactly indescribable, but it looked a lot like desire, and Draco wasn't prepared to believe that he could be so lucky. 

As it happened, he didn't have time to worry about believing it or not, because the next moment Harry was up against him - warm and hard and breathing down his neck. 

"Draco, I want ..." He didn't finish his sentence, but his tongue in Draco's ear made it vividly clear what he wanted. And Draco wanted it too, oh so badly, and the pot and alcohol again joined forces to suppress the voice in Draco's head that quietly screamed 'No no no Draco bad boy this is so bad you can't do this you're going to get hurt again noooooo'. He could sort of still make it out, but it was easily brushed aside in favor of tasting Harry, feeling his arse, nipping at his lips, neck, oh god Harry's hand was down his pants.... Draco gasped, and Harry must have taken it the wrong way because he was pulling away and babbling something about being so sorry.

Draco winced, because he knew that 'I'm sorry' meant 'I'm sorry I'm leading you on.'

"Don't worry, I'm fine," he said, stiffly. 

"It's just that- I know this isn't what you want from me." Harry was looking anywhere but at Draco. 

"What, kissing? I was okay with that." _I mean, I want your heart and soul forever, but I'll settle for kissing. More kissing? Please?_

"No, I -" Harry smiled ruefully. "Maybe you want kissing. I do, too. But I want more than - God, I wish I had known when I moved in what you would do to me. I meant, I know you don't want all this sappy stuff. Emotions. A relationship."

"What on earth are you talking about? What I would do to you?"

"How much you'd turn me on.” He took a deep breath and clearly forced himself to continue. “How much I'd like hanging out with you. I do. I really really do. I'm sorry, I thought I could keep it casual but I wanted it so much and then after that night - we had sex and I told you I was in love with you and you... you didn't do anything, you didn't respond and you didn't make another move and I was just going crazy, I thought you hated me, or regretted it, or that I was terrible in bed or something..." He trailed off. 

"What?"

Draco was staring at him. 

"Draco, what -"

And then Draco was kissing him harder and more passionately than he'd ever imagined kissing anyone. He possessed Harry's mouth, his hands announced their intention to possess his arse, and his groin declared ownership over Harry's cock. Harry was his. All his. Always his. He could shout for joy, except that would mean he'd have to stop kissing Harry, and he wasn't about to do that yet.

"I’m so fucking in love with you," he whispered against Harry's lips, clutching him tighter and grinding his cock into Harry's hard length.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, letting his hands drift down Harry's arms and take up Harry's hands. He brought the fingertips to his lips and kissed each one. Harry's eyes drifted closed and he let out a long shuddering sigh. 

“We're not going to do this drunk. Let's go to my house and take some of your Unspeakable potion. I want to remember every last second of this night.”

Harry looked deeply into Draco's eyes, leaned forward and brushed Draco's lips with his own. “God, yes. Every second.”

Draco's heart skipped a beat, but he still had the forethought to use his emergency home Portkey - for situations just such as this, when Apparition was out of the question. 

Once there, Draco drew away from Harry and walked towards the bedroom. 

"Oh, are we using your bedroom, then?"

"Our bedroom. You are moving back in."

"Oh, am I?" Harry sounded delighted.

"You are. And we are getting house-elves again, because we are not leaving this bed for a week, and we'll need to eat. So deal with it."

"You know what else I'm going to deal with?" Harry asked, voice low and suggestive.

Draco felt a little breathless. "What?" He found himself backed up against the door to his bedroom, hands on his belt buckle.

"Your trousers." As he said this, Harry's hands were working on unbuttoning said trousers and pushing them down. Draco stepped out of them, aware of his prick, hard and leaking precome, bouncing against the top of Harry's clothed thigh. "And then I'm going to deal with your shirt." Nimble fingers dealt with the buttons on the shirt and pulled it off Draco's shoulders, leaving him naked in front of a fully clothed Harry. "And then I'm going to deal with you."

Speech was difficult when all the blood in his body had traveled to his cock, but Draco was nothing if not verbal. "What about my tie?" he asked, challengingly.

"We're leaving that on." Harry waved his hand and Draco felt magic shimmer on his chest. He looked down. The tie, previously a muted wedgewood blue, was now green and silver. A Slytherin tie. He laughed incredulously.

"So, this was a long-standing crush, then?" Hope busted out of the prison of his ribcage and suffused his whole body. He felt right then like he could take flight with no broomstick, no spell; just the way he felt at that exact moment would carry him into the heavens. That, and the way Harry was looking at him, lust and love clear as day in his eyes.

"You could say that. C'mere." Harry tugged on the tie and led Draco to the bed. House booty was about to be very good booty, indeed.

"I want you on your back this time."

Draco climbed onto the bed and stretched out wantonly, displaying his lean, smooth body to its full advantage. His heart was racing and he was fighting not to close his eyes because he felt so exposed, because the sight of Harry's eyes devouring him was too good - too good to be believed, too good to be borne.

Harry slowly stripped off his own clothing, maintaining eye contact as much as possible, and Draco stroked himself, moaning and blushing at the sound.

"I like it when you sound like that."

"Like what?" asked Draco, though he knew exactly what Harry meant.

"You sound helpless, like I could do anything I wanted with you and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Draco felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, in the most delightful way possible. He hadn't imagined he'd enjoy giving over control this much, though he must have known subliminally that co-existing with the kind, jovial Harry there was a demanding, dominating Harry that would take him in hand and give him what for.

Harry, fully naked now, climbed on top of Draco and kissed him thoroughly, fingers entwined with Draco's, pressing his hands down on the bed above his head.

"Want you so much," he breathed in Draco's ear. "Want to fuck you, want you to fuck me, want you every way I can get you..." He rubbed his erection against Draco's and they both gasped.

Draco strained upwards to Harry, kissing him with abandon, trying to get as much contact as possible while being restrained. "Let me give you a blow job, Harry."

Harry smiled, panting. "Maybe later. I'm gonna fuck you now, and you're going to remember this."

He spread Draco's legs further apart and let go of one hand, bringing it down underneath his balls and teasing Draco's spasming hole. The tingle of a lubrication charm filled him, and he groaned with need.

"Need you right now. Fucking put it in, Potter."

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, apparently trying to maintain control. The head of his cock penetrated Draco in one shocking second, and his shaft followed, excruciatingly slowly.

Draco's hips bucked up, taking Harry in to the hilt. "What part of 'fuck me now' did you not understand?" he said, using his free hand to pull Harry's head down to his. Their tongues met as Harry began pumping into him, the rhythm speeding up and slowing down with a randomness that kept Draco wonderfully on edge, never knowing what was coming next.

Except that they both were coming, suddenly and powerfully, muscles shuddering as their climax strained their overstimulated nervous systems. Harry collapsed on top of Draco, breathing too heavily to say anything, but his lips moved against Draco's ear, and it felt like he was mouthing Draco's name.

They lay like that for a minute or so, recovering their breath and senses. Draco was contemplating whether it was actually possible to die of happiness, when something occurred to him.

"So, why did I wake up on the bathroom floor the other morning? That wasn't very gallant of you," Draco drawled as he elbowed Harry's side. 

"Hey! Stop that! It wasn't my fault; I took you to my bed and we fell asleep together but in the morning you weren't there. You must have gone to the bathroom and passed out," Harry replied as he rolled on his side and began stroking Draco's hair.

"You took me to your bed? I don't remember that at all, " Draco said, confused but leaning into the stroking.

"Well, you weren't conscious at the time," Harry said, sounding slightly shifty.

"You absconded with me? You abducted me while I was helpless?" Draco exclaimed, full of mock-outrage. 

"You were hardly helpless - or I should say, you may have been helpless, but you were also still hard." He cleared his throat. "I just wanted to make sure that got... taken care of."

"You... no!"

"Yes." Harry grinned sheepishly at him.

"You blew me while I was passed out!" Draco was not-so-secretly thrilled by this idea.

"I kept hoping you'd wake up, but you didn't."

"You pervert!" Draco laughed delightedly.

"Only for you," Harry murmured, kissing Draco's neck. 

Draco hummed approvingly. "You can perv on me anytime, Harry."

"I intend to," Harry replied, dragging Draco closer to him and burying his face in the blond hair. They lay quietly for several more minutes.

"Why did you offer to move in?" Draco asked, hoping his sudden intuition was correct.

"Why do you think?" His tone was evasive but amused.

"Mmm.... because you've nursed a crush on me since fifth year?" Draco ventured.

"Ah," said Harry, "it's not as simple as that. It took me forever to figure out why I thought about you all the time."

"You've never been quick, I've always said."

Harry smacked his arm playfully. "Do you want the explanation or not? I'm perfectly happy keeping it to myself, you know."

"Really?"

"No, not really, I've been dying to tell you." Harry laughed. "So, I had always thought about you, but it was mostly 'why is Malfoy such an arse?' Until I actually started noticing your arse."

"Hard to keep your eyes off it, isn't it?" Draco asked, smug but delighted.

"Now that we've reached our understanding, it's going to be hard to keep my prick out of it." He shifted Draco around so that he could kiss him, groping his arse as he did so. Draco responded enthusiastically and they got lost in each other for a while, until Harry came up for air.

"Where was I? Oh yes, your arse. Well, I began to think I must be gay, if I was checking out boys' arses. So I decided to test it out. Made out with Seamus after a victory party in sixth year, and it was nice, but it wasn't the end-all be-all."

"Hardly surprising - Finnigan doesn't look like he'd know the first thing about kissing boys," Draco huffed.

"Yeah, well, skipping ahead a bit -" Harry rolled his eyes. "After the war, I dated quite a bit, both sexes, and the sex was good, but better with women. Which did not explain why I still checked out men's arses. Then came Theodore Nott's party. And your striptease. God, that was the hottest thing to ever happen to me. Basically, when I saw you dance to that song, I realized I'd had a crush on you for years without being able to acknowledge it."

Draco couldn't imagine being happier than he was at that moment. "So you decided to trick me into letting you move in?"

"What can I say, you were vulnerable and I was horny." Harry smiled wryly at him. "I didn't think it would take as long as it did, what with me practically throwing myself at you."

"Throwing yourself at me???"

"I manipulated my way into your home, I spent nearly every waking hour in the living room so that you couldn't avoid hanging out with me, I intentionally wore the thinnest t-shirts possible -"

"And here I just thought you were too cheap to buy new ones." Draco said, wonderingly. "Well, those t-shirts worked. I had the damnedest time not staring at you when you'd wander into the kitchen half-clothed like that."

"You are entirely too subtle for your own good, because it seemed like you never noticed. I was losing my mind. For Christ's sake, I was reduced to getting you drunk and stripping for you!"

"I just never imagined that you'd want me," Draco confessed, in a rare display of honesty. "I'm not a good person, Harry. I think you're just infatuated by my - admittedly - lovely exterior," he laughed, fear straining the sound.

"I may be dense, but I'm not a bad judge of character, Draco." He leaned over Draco, looking him straight in the eye.

"What?" Draco whispered.

"This," Harry said, as he kissed Draco's lips.

Fin!

 

Lyrics from Digital Love, by Daft Punk on the (wonderful, amazing, life changing) album Discovery.


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